The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

[Dragonsong]

Chuckling at the line about street performers aspiring to greatness - though for a far different reason than the joke was made - Roen nodded along with the offer of field work. He would have his chance to prove his worth soon enough; juggling was only one of his talents, and however little he liked killing he had been forced to admit over time that he was good at it. To fight for a good cause was nothing new, but a good cause with even a chance of victory, that would be a nice change of pace. And then the messenger arrived, and Roen cursed his perfect timing, bowing his head respectfully at the mention of the dead man.

"Aye, the lady gave me one of her papers, and I was planning to hear her out, at least. As for the Drow ultimatum, it could go one of two ways. It could be that they're afraid to attack the town, and hope that we're afraid enough of that possibility that they won't have to. But Dark Elves are sneaky and cunning; they don't give away their intentions unless they're supremely confident of their victory, which probably means they'll attack the town no matter what we do." In Roen's experience, it was true enough. A race that fought by poison and ambush (and tended to wear light armor) gave up a major advantage when they surrendered the element of surprise.

"You weren't really thinking of handing the old man over, were you? Gods only know what they'd gain with this book of his, and as I said, they'd probably attack just for the slaves and plunder if they're willing to be this bold." Roen doubted that the rider was thinking any such thoughts; after all, it was his duty to protect the town and its citizens. Still, a little reinforcement of that path likely wouldn't hurt. "I'll speak with him, if you think it'll help. Should I go now, do you think, or wait and meet with the parchment-giving lass about it? In the meantime, perhaps we should send word to the outlying farms that there are Drow skulking about, get them into town before night falls."